


A Templar's Heart

by Musicalrain



Series: A Templar's Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, An Ace LI for Hawke, Asexual Character, Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Cutesy, Demisexual Hawke, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Good Templars (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Meet-Cute, Post-Act 2, Silly, Some Humor, The Author Regrets Nothing, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicalrain/pseuds/Musicalrain
Summary: Hawke meets a Templar so cute and adorable that she wants to keep her.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Templar's Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613812
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	A Templar's Heart

“Maker have mercy!”

Hawke thinks the voice sounds a little too high-pitched to be Fenris’ or Varric’s, but, maybe Anders; she should probably check. 

She swings the blunted counterweight of her staff in an upwards arc, bashing the chin of the fool of a raider that was charging her whilst scantily clad in mismatched leathers, and swings on the balls of her feet with the momentum to search the treeline she’d last seen Anders blasting the idiots with lightning. 

She sees a blinding glint of steel, a swath of burgundy fabrics, and someone a might head shorter or, well, three, than Anders standing amongst the trees. 

_She’s not Anders_ , Hawke thinks, right before the fletching of an arrow nearly catches on the shoulder of her robes as it passes by at an impressive speed; she turns her head to see the haft _thunk_ as it settles in the meat of another raider’s shoulder. A raider that was much too close to Hawke for her liking.

She sets his pants on fire; he’d almost snuck up on her.

She turns toward the treeline again, and spares a second for a closer look.

_That woman’s a Templar. Oh, Blight._

* * *

“You’re a Templar,” Hawke states obviously once the raiders have either all been eviscerated, pincushioned, or otherwise made crisp.

She’d had to tell Anders to back off once he’d noticed. No need for Justice, well, not now anyway.

“Er, yes, serah.”

The Templar’s _tiny_ ; she’s probably the littlest one she’d ever met. Not an ounce bit scary, just _cute._ Like a kid dressed up in their papa’s trews and helmet.

“You’re not gonna, I dunno, try to smite me, or something?” Hawke wiggles her fingers for affect.

The Templar’s face twists beneath her helmet, and she shakes her head. “Why would I do that? Far as I’m concerned you all are victims of these raiders.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Hawke asks curiously, propping her chin on her hands interlaced around her staff.

“I’m not going to try to punish you for defending yourself,” and they way she says it, Hawke figures it’s something she’s had to say before.

Hawke hears Anders scoff, loudly and obnoxiously, a pace behind her. “Oh, right,” he mutters equally loudly and obnoxiously, “a Templar not interested in _punishment_.”

Hawke spies the Templar’s dark eyes flicker toward Anders, and narrow in a way that’s still not scary, and is _definitely_ cute.

“Not all Templars are interested in lording over mages. Some of us are just trying to survive in our own way and not hurt anybody in the process.”

“Somebody like you?” Hawke asks, and she’s most certainly intrigued now.

“Well, yes.” She says shortly.

“What’s your name, Templar?”

“Ser Cedra.”

Hawke extends a hand toward the Templar, and can’t help the broad grin that stretches her lips when a leather-clad hand grips hers. “I’m Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Truly?”

Hawke spies those eyes narrow at her, and nods her head while continuing to hold onto the Templar’s small hand. She’s not sure why, but Hawke feels her grin softening into an expression she usually reserves for mabari or small children.

“ _Oh, Hawke_ ,” she hears Varric mutter a ways off, and has to consciously refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Well, I suppose it’s nice to meet you then, Champion.”

* * *

“She’s my favorite Templar,” Hawke declares to Varric and Fenris as the three of them set to work pitching tents in a clearing far enough away from the raiders not to smell them anymore; they were _rank_. 

Anders is off pretending not to spy on the Templar while she gathers wood; Hawke’s letting him have his fun. She doubts the woman would do so much as harm a hair on his head. And hey, she had _volunteered_ to gather wood; she was getting more and more good marks in Hawke’s books by the minute.

“Really?” Varric has this twinkle in his eye as he says this, all suave charm and poorly hidden amusement. “She ranks higher than Junior? And Ser Cullen?”

“Oh, definitely,” Hawke nods her head, and decides, blast it, and uses a touch of the Fist of the Maker to secure the stakes of her tent into the hard ground. Hopefully she hasn’t splintered any.

“You have hardly made your favor a secret,” and that’s from Fenris. He says this with the same contempt he usually says things, but Hawke thinks she detects a touch of defensiveness in it… maybe jealousy? No, that can’t be right. She must be hearing things.

“It’s not a secret,” she mutters with a confused frown at his back. “I like her,” and she feels her face doing that thing again, unbidden. The soft look that makes her think of mabari and little kids with fat cheeks ripe for pinching.

She hears Varric chuckle, and looks to him to see his lips twisted in the tiniest of smiles, the one that’s real-Varric and not fantastic-storyteller-Varric. She’d glad to see it, whenever it happens. “I’d never thought I’d see the day, Hawke. You’re smitten.”

“Shut it,” she snaps with no heat, and instead feels her cheeks burn as she ducks her head. “Am not,” she says childishly.

“Are too,” he singsongs back.

Anders comes charging into the clearing then, and does something with his arms that Hawke supposes is supposed to look casual as Ser Cedra walks into the clearing with her arms bundled with wood.

She sets the wood into a neat pile before standing to look at Anders. She removes her helmet then, and Hawke can’t help but think that her hemet hair is _adorable_. Cedra tilts her head at Anders, peering at him with scrutiny before shaking her head and walking toward Hawke.

She jerks her head toward Anders once she’s close enough to be heard, “Is there something off about him?”

That surprises a bark of laughter out of Varric _and_ Fenris.

Maybe they like her a little bit too.

* * *

“I can get you lot through the Planasene, no problem,” Ser Cedra states in between bites while they’re settled around the fire, eating a supper of dried foods and surprisingly-not-stale bread. “Padmal’s not much further out, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“We’re looking for a place in the Planasene called Hog’s Marsh, actually.”

And if Hawke’s sitting close enough to see the fine wrinkles in the Templar’s forehead as she raises her brow in question, well, Varric’s the only one taking notes.

“Why are you looking for Hog’s Marsh?”

“Back in Kirkwall there’s rumor of a dragon there,” Hawke grins then, all teeth, and she can’t help it; it’s a _dragon_.

“You’re dragon hunters?”

“Naw,” Varric chuckles, “we’re _hobbyists_.”

Ser Cedra looks so adorably confused that Hawke has to tell herself not to pinch her cheeks.

“I can take you to Hog’s Marsh, but I don’t think you’ll find a dragon there. There’s not much there besides… marshland.”

* * *

“So, what’s your story, Templar?” Varric asks some time later while they’re all tending to their gear, as is their ritual. 

Frankly, Hawke loves going over her staff after a battle; she always finds the neatest little things left over from a good fight. Tonight it looks like she has a bit of scale armor wedged into the spikes. The scales are slightly iridescent; she thinks they’re pretty.

“My story?” Ser Cedra parrots back questioningly. She’s doing… something with her arrows. Hawke doesn’t know much about archery, but she thinks she’d like to learn.

“Yeah,” Varric says with a chuckle under his breath. “You’re a Templar who’d willingly travel in a group with two apostates and a glowing elf; that’s not something you come across everyday.”

Cedra’s lips twist as she takes a moment to gather her thoughts, and Hawke’s gaze is honed onto the pout of her bottom lip; why is she so Blighted _cute_? “I highly doubt you all will report me for not adhering to my duty in this case.”

“No,” Varric laughs, “you’ve got that right.”

“I’ve never ‘ _captured_ ’ an apostate before, and I’ve been apart of the Templar Order for over a decade now. I guess you could say I’m a bad Templar.”

She says ‘captured’ with the same kind of distaste Fenris says ‘Magister’. 

“Why’s that,” Varric asks gently, and, boy, does he know how to draw a story out of someone. Hawke would be impressed if she hasn’t fallen for this act before herself.

Ser Cedra rakes a hand through her shortly-cropped hair, and exhales a breath that makes her shoulders sag. “I joined the Templar Order for the education, not to terrorize honest people trying to live their lives in peace,” she shrugs her shoulders, “I might’ve been better off listening to my mother and joining the cloister instead.”

“How can you be a Templar and say things like this?” Anders asks, and by the look on his face, he’s either eaten something particularly sour, or he’s having an internal crisis; maybe both, who knows with him.

“For awhile, I believed in the Order. But that changed after I was stationed at my first Circle. You get out into the world and see the bad things the Chantry does in the name of the Maker, and you don’t agree with the doctrine anymore. At least, I don’t.”

Everyone just stares at her, shocked, and she scrubs a hand across her face. Hawke wants to give her a hug and squish her forever. She wishes more Templars thought like she does. Maybe they do, and she just doesn’t know it.

“You want to hear my story? It’s a simple one. My family are poor sheep herders in Ansburg. I liked learning, and the local elder said I’d shown promise, but my family could never afford to send me to university. My only choice for an education was the Chantry. My family didn’t agree with this. We’re not very pious,” she sets aside her arrows now, and leans forward some, speaking directly to Varric. “I learned to pretend to be. I didn’t think I could pretend enough to be a Sister, but maybe a Templar. And when you’re young, being a knight sounds fantastic. I was naive. There’s no grandeur in being a Templar. But it’s a life, and one that I chose. The only thing I’m trying to do, and have always done, is live my life the best I can, and try to make peace with it. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“Why not leave the Order?” Anders, again. He has a look of wonder on his face, and Hawke can feel her face doing something similar. She’s amazing. The tiny Templar with a heart of gold.

Cedra’s expression turns wry, and she shakes her head. “I’m shackled to this life with lyrium. I know it’ll make me mad and kill me one day, but I’m still given two phials a day. Best I can cut down is half a day, but sometimes the day grates enough that I’ll need a whole. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to cut myself off entirely, but it never lasts long; a couple weeks at most.”

“Templars are…” Hawke starts slowly, carefully, which is unlike her. The realization is sinking in as she speaks the words aloud. “Templars are kept Templars with lyrium.”

The look Cedra turns toward Hawke is both sad and beaten. “I could be flogged for telling you this, but when I’ve cut myself off from lyrium, I could still perform a Cleanse just fine; I went back to the lyrium because it is a crutch, one worse than any drink. They tell us that lyrium gives us our abilities, and without it we’d be useless, but it’s just a leash, one that the Chantry holds.”

Hawke can’t help herself, she squishes her in a big bear hug, one that makes the Templar squeak out in surprise. Hawke buries her face in her mousy-brown hair a moment, before turning her head; it’s a little sweaty, not that she minds entirely, Maker knows Hawke is covered in filth just from trekking through the forest. 

Ser Cedra seems to not know what to do with her hands, but eventually she settles them on Hawke’s back; this makes Hawke smile. 

“If you want to leave the Order, I’ll help you,” Hawke says cheerily. She can hear gasps of protest from her friends. 

“How can you help me?” Cedra’s voice is muffled against the shoulder of Hawke’s robes. “Why would you help me?”

“I’m the Champion of Kirkwall, helping people is what I do,” Hawke states brightly, squeezing the woman a little tighter.

* * *

Hawke doesn’t know why she wakes up in the middle of the night, but decides to follow her gut and crawl out of her tent; her gut’s gotten her this far without leading her astray, after all.

Ser Cedra is sitting hunched over on her bedroll before the dying embers of the fire. She’s dressed down in a tunic and leggings, and her hair’s stuck up in even more places then it was before. Hawke thinks she’s just as cute as she’s been all day.

Hawke knows she’s in deep, and it’s hardly been a day. When she falls, she falls hard and fast; and, fortunately for everyone’s sanity, it’s rare for her to fall for someone. The last she’d felt this way was years and years ago, in another life entirely. Hawke loves her friends, she does, but this… this kind of adoration and attraction isn’t something she feels all too often. She’d recognized it for what is was, after awhile; it took her a bit to completely catch on, to be honest.

She makes a bit of noise as she approaches the Templar, not wanting to startle her, and sits beside her on her bedroll as Cedra inclines her head in acknowledgement.

She turns toward Hawke after a moment, and Hawke meets her dark gaze head on. She seems to study her face, and says, most unexpectedly, “I had a friend that believed in love at first sight.”

Hawke feels her cheeks burn and hopes the other woman can’t see them in the low light. Andraste preserve her, is she that easy to read?

Hawke holds her breath as the woman raises her hand to cup her cheek, and her slender fingers are trembling. “I don’t know why, but I trust you, Champion.”

“I have that affect on people.” She drops her hand then, and Hawke tries not to pout at the loss. “And you can call me Hawke or even Marian, you know.” She’s not sure why she offers her the use of her given name; she _hates_ her name. 

The Templar’s lips lift in the smallest of smiles. “You should know, many Templars take oaths of celibacy. I have, but I’ve… also never wanted someone that way. If you’re… helping me, because you want me, then you should know that I can’t give that to you.”

“That’s not why I’m helping you,” Hawke says vehemently, scooting closer to the smaller woman and clasping her hands. “I’m helping you because I _can_ and I _want to_ ; I’m not expecting anything in return, but maybe, if we could be friends,” Hawke is blushing even more furiously, “I would like that.” 

“I think… I would like to be your friend as well. I haven’t had many,” she admits.

“We can be friends!” Hawke says brightly, feeling her spirits soar, but, something occurs to her then, “and no sex,” she’s quick to clarify. “That’s what we’re talking about, right?”

Cedra’s eyes go round, and she laughs, surprised and amused, “Yes.”

Cedra rubs her thumbs across Hawke’s knuckles after a moment, her hands clammy and cold, but Hawke doesn't mind; she’s _happy_. Maybe they’re not exactly friend-friends, but she’s good with whatever they are.

“The Sisters in Padmal sent me into investigate rumors of trouble in the Planasene. Is that you?” She asks, and by the inflection of her voice, Hawke guesses she’s teasing. She’s even happier to see the Templar being _playful_.

“Oh, I’m trouble, alright,” Hawke says brightly, amusement and pleasure leaking into her tone, “And it’s yours, if you want it.”

Cedra grins widely at that, and leans forward to sweetly kiss the back of Hawke’s hand. She feels pure joy bubble up in her at that; she wants to see more of her smiles, and be graced with more of her kisses, like nothing else. 

Cedra may have found her trouble, and Hawke may not have found her dragon, _yet_ , but she’s found something much better,

she’s found this Templar.

**Author's Note:**

> and then Hawke comes back from the dragon-hunt dragonless but with a former-Templar in tow, which makes Isabela’s /day/, and Isabela writes so much friend-fiction that her fingers nearly fall off


End file.
